People Aren't Meant to Fly
by turtledoves
Summary: He's standing at the edge of his house's roof with his feet slanted toward the ground. /Finnick and Annie as children. Verging on poetic.


**a/n [**_I'm trying out a new style, so just bear with me for a while. It doesn't actually make that much sense. And yes, the words in italics are mine. For Racheltwo in April. (Happy early birthday!)_**]**

_**.**_

_a boy was born with hair lighter than day_  
_and a smile that could illuminate the night._  
_but hair darkens, and smiles lessen,_  
_and boys grow older and lose their light._

_**.**_

He's standing at the edge of his house's roof with his feet slanted toward the ground. And he's trying to gain his balance, but the wind is blowing just a bit too hard. He's certain that this is a very, very bad idea, but it's too late now. And with all of this wind it must also be certain that if he jumps then he'll fly away, right?

The answer is a very definite no; he'll not fly away.

And the defeated boy walks back the short distance to his home contemplating what went wrong. But, oh, don't you know, little boy? People aren't meant to fly.

_**.**_

He sees a girl one day, and she's only a baby, really. She's got wide eyes and fat cheeks and short, stringy hair. And she's standing on the last post of the pier with her arms spread wide and the wind whipping through her clothes.

And he's too young to wonder where her parents are and why she's alone, but he runs over to her because she looks a lot like she's trying to fly and oh, doesn't she know? People aren't meant to fly. But she isn't jumping, and he's still running, and someone's going to make a mess of things soon.

He reaches her and tugs her arm. She tries to resist, but it doesn't work. Because she's just a baby, really, and he's not that much older, but he can tug her down all the same. And she's angry then, with a scrunched up nose and all.

"You broke it!" she accuses, and he's suddenly confused. Because what did he break, and he was just helping, and this is why girls are dumb.

But, really, he didn't break anything but the picture she was creating in her mind. And if she were older, she'd have a larger range of vocabulary, and would choose a word very different from broke. But she's just a baby, really, and he broke it, and she doesn't like him.

So she runs away.

_**.**_

_a girl was born with a crown on her head,  
and they swore one day she'd save them all.  
but dreams often fail, and hope always dies,  
and in the end you're left feeling small._

_**.**_

He's standing in the sand all alone, but it isn't all that bad because the sand is squishing and squashing under his feet, and it makes him feel powerful almost; like in the way that pushing someone down makes you stand up taller. But he didn't push anyone down, he doesn't think, because that's mean and he isn't mean.

He hopes he isn't mean.

But then he doesn't care anymore because his attention span is still so incredibly small. When he ages it will get better perhaps, but he isn't thinking about that. He's thinking about the fish in the sea, and what he'll eat for dinner, and why did that little girl start wearing her hair in braids. It doesn't suit her, but he doesn't know what does suit her, and he's not sure why he cares.

He cares about a lot of things, but this isn't usually one of them.

_**.**_

She meets him again on that same dock. She's not standing on the edge this time because she could fall, and that would be bad, and she's older now so she knows she shouldn't do that. He's sitting on the edge, though, with his feet dangling off, and she thinks that's dangerous because he could slip, and that would be bad, and he's even older than her so he should know he shouldn't do that.

She doesn't tell him that, though, because she doesn't like him, because he broke—interrupted—her daydream, oh, so many days ago. But she does sit next to him because she's bored and alone and she's only just a kid, and she can't hold grudges that long anyway.

So he says hello to her because he's got nothing better to do, and she says hello back.

And oh, it's a slow beginning, children, to a very long story indeed.

_**.**_

_a friendship was born that day, they think,  
but what do they really know about friends?  
they think they'll conquer the world together,  
but wishes like that won't tie the loose ends._

**_._**

He's not that much older, really, but he's changed so much. And that little girl is growing out of her little stage, and she's almost as tall as him now, which frightens him just a bit. But oh, he doesn't know that one day she'll only come up to his chin, just like before.

And they're lying next to each other on the sand because, well, they just can. There is no better reason than that. And the sky is dark, or it would be, but there are just too many stars. And he reaches his arm up and points to a couple because, oh, he just learned about this, didn't he? The big one is the North Star and it can guide you home from anywhere. He tells her this, but she isn't as impressed.

"How?"

"Because that's what it does."

"But _how_?"

And she's the inquisitive type of person, which is a trait commonly found in most young children, but she's a bit more grown up than that, and she's still asking questions. And it irritates him a bit, but it's not his fault they're just so different.

Then she's pointing to a star, and it's the Little Dipper, but he says there's no such thing:

"There's only a big one."

And then she won't talk to him for a bit, and he thinks that's just fine. But it's hard to stay mad at each other when they're still lying side by side.

_**.**_

She's standing at the edge of the dock, and she's holding his hand tightly. He's bouncing on the edge of his toes, and he's excited because the rushing water below him is excited, and the bright rays of the sun are excited, and he's sure he can feel it pulsing through his bones, but oh, that isn't possible, is it? He doesn't care.

And then he's shouting out and counting down all at the same time. And in _3! 2! 1! _they're both jumping in the air and screaming as they fall because it's a long jump, and why did they do this during low tide, and oh, the water is really, really cold.

But they're laughing, and they can't stop—well, actually they can, but they aren't—because for a second there they could've sworn they were flying. And who's going to doubt them? Because they're just children, really, and they dream wild things, and maybe people can fly after all.


End file.
